‘A couple of hours? Is that all I’m getting?’ he says, passing me my glass.
‘No, I’ve only got ten minutes to spare with you, then I’ve got another date with some cool people.’
He smiles, a fraction too late.
‘Another date?’ he asks.
I blush.
‘I see. Well, I had better make the most of the time I have with you then. Cheers.’ He raises his glass to mine and continues to hold my stare as we drink. I look away first and swallow down more of the wine than I should.
Things quickly become comfortable between us. The alcohol oils our conversation and both flow freely. It feels easy and natural to be in his company again, despite the missing years. Three days before Christmas and the bar is uncomfortably full, but I barely notice. The strangers that surround us are regularly replenished, cushioning me from the dangerously sharp edges of who we used to be. I return Edward’s smiles, compliments and light touches only too aware that it would take just a tiny tear to rip through the fabric of the life I have now. After two drinks I’m already feeling slightly more intoxicated than seems wise. I haven’t managed to eat much today.
‘I don’t know about you, but I’m starving,’ he says, as though reading my mind. ‘Do you have time to get a quick bite to eat?’ I consider the proposal. I’m hungry, I’m having fun. I’m not doing anything wrong. In my albeit brief search, I can’t find a reason to say no.
‘Somewhere nearby?’ I ask.
‘Sounds good to me,’ he says, then stands to help me into my jacket. After fighting our way through the masses, he pushes the door open ahead of me. ‘After you.’ I’d forgotten what it was like to be out with a gentleman; it’s like being with someone from the past, my past.
The air is soberingly cold, but Edward says he knows a place not too far away. I’m out of practice walking in heels on cobbled streets. The second time I stumble he takes my arm and I let him, aware that we must look like a couple and I don’t think that I mind. We stop at what looks like a residential town house and I’m confused when he releases my arm and knocks on the intimidating black door.
‘What are you doing?’ I whisper. I feel like a schoolgirl.
‘Finding somewhere for us to eat, unless you aren’t hungry any more?’
Before I have a chance to reply, the large, glossy door swings open, and a middle-aged man in a black suit appears in the doorway. He’s uncomfortably tall, like someone has stretched him and he has the face of someone who’s received too much bad news. ‘Any chance of a table for two?’ asks Edward.
To my surprise, the man nods. ‘Of course, sir, step this way.’
I feel like Alice in Wonderland as I follow the suited man down a long, marble-floored hallway. I look over my shoulder to make sure Edward is still following behind. He looks pleased with himself and I realise this was probably all part of his plan for the evening. I don’t mind, it’s not as though he forced me to come. We turn through a small door on the right and enter a large, candlelit dining room, where we are shown to the only remaining empty table. Four other couples are already seated; they don’t look up.
‘I will get you the wine list, sir,’ says the suited man before retreating with our coats through a curtained doorway.
‘Well, this is impressive,’ is all I can manage to say.
‘Thank you, I like it. It’s members’ only.’
His tanned hands pick up the white cotton napkin on the table in front of him, carefully unfolding the cloth as though he’s handling the Turin Shroud, before placing it on his lap. I do the same with my own napkin, then wonder what is taking so long with the wine list. I worry that we might have already exhausted all avenues of interesting conversation without it.
‘How’s the new job going?’ I ask.
‘Well. Very well in fact. It was supposed to be temporary, but they’ve offered me a permanent post and I’ve decided to stay a little longer.’
‘Congratulations, which hospital?’
‘King Alfred’s.’
‘That’s near me,’ I say. He smiles.
‘And your girlfriend, does she work in London too?’
‘She does, but in the city centre. What with my shifts and her work schedule, I don’t get to see her as often as I’d like. There’s no food menu here, you get what you’re given, I’m afraid, but it’s always good.’
‘What if I don’t like what I’m given?’
‘I’m pretty sure that you will.’
I listen to him talk about his work. He always wanted to be a doctor and now he is. I think it was one of the things I found so attractive about him when we first met. He wanted to help people, wanted to save them. He doesn’t talk about it for long, he’s too modest for that, he keeps changing the subject back to me. My stories seem shallow and empty in comparison. What I do doesn’t save lives. I do what I do to help myself.
The meal is the nicest food I’ve eaten for a long time but, as my wine glass is refilled, I can’t stop myself from prodding at the perfect evening.
‘Does your girlfriend know you’re out with an ex tonight?’ I ask.
‘Of course! Doesn’t your husband?’
I don’t say anything and he laughs at me. I don’t like it.
‘That was a long time ago, we’ve both moved on and grown up a lot since then,’ he adds. I feel foolish and old, past my ‘best before’ date.
He says no to dessert, so I do the same. As he talks, I can’t help remembering when we were together. He struggled to keep his hands off me then but that was over ten years ago. He might look the same, but I don’t. Despite the new clothes and make-up, I’m still the old me and not the one he remembers.
‘I’ll walk you to Waterloo,’ he says.
‘There’s really no need, I’m perfectly capable of getting there myself.’
‘I’m sure you are, but I’m new around here remember? I might get lost, so I’d appreciate the company.’
He offers me his arm as we leave the restaurant and I see no harm in taking it. I can feel the warmth of him through his coat and notice the way women seem to stare at him as we stroll to the station. We walk along the concourse and I scan the departure boards through tired eyes, anxious not to miss the last train home.
‘Platform Thirteen for me. Thank you so much for a lovely evening.’ I kiss him on the cheek.
‘We must do this again some time.’
‘I’d like that,’ I reply, not entirely sure that I would.
He takes my hand in his and I feel instantly uncomfortable.
‘I have to go,’ I say, trying to retrieve my fingers from his grip.
‘No, you don’t. Come for one last drink. You can get the next train . . .’
‘I really can’t, I think this might be the last one.’
‘Then stay with me. We can get a room at one of the best hotels London has to offer.’ His grip on my hand tightens and I see a look in his eyes that I’d deleted from the memories of us. I pull my hand away.
‘Edward, I’m married.’
‘You’re not happy. You wouldn’t have come tonight if you were.’
‘That’s not true.’
‘Isn’t it? I know you.’
‘The version of me you knew is several years out of date.’
‘I don’t think so. We both messed up before, but we can move on from that. I didn’t know what I had back then, but I know now, and I want it back. I think you do too. That’s why you came.’
‘I’m really sorry if I’ve given you the wrong impression. I have to go.’
I walk away. I don’t need to look back to know he’s still standing there or that I’ve made a big mistake.
Before
Wednesday, 14th October 1992
Dear Diary,
Today was my birthday. I am now eleven years old. It was also Taylor’s birthday, but we did not spend it together. Today was officially the worst birthday I’ve ever had. Everything is broken and I can’t think of a way to fix it. Things went very wro
ng, very quickly, and then just kept getting worse. It wasn’t my fault, it really wasn’t.
I’ve been wearing Taylor’s bracelet to bed at night, the one with our date of birth engraved in the gold. It sounds silly, but wearing it felt like she was with me somehow and that made me happy. I was so excited this morning that I forgot to take it off before coming downstairs. It was a stupid thing to do.
Mum said I had to eat breakfast before I could open any presents. She thinks about food all the time and has got fat again, so fat this time that she had to cut the top of her leggings with the kitchen scissors because they were too tight. She saw the bracelet when I reached for the cereal and was calm at first, just asked what it was and where I got it. She looked at the inscription and read the words out loud. My darling girl. I didn’t want to get in trouble on my birthday, so I told her it was a gift from Taylor’s mum.
It was just a little white lie and I promised God that if he existed and made Mum forget about it, I would definitely give the bracelet back the next day. But God doesn’t exist or wasn’t listening. Mum just lost it and went nuts. Even Dad, who had called in sick again, told her she was overreacting, but that just seemed to make things worse. She told me to take it off, so I started pretending to fiddle with the clasp. Then she walked away and I thought it was over, but she picked up the phone on the wall at the other end of the kitchen.
Dad poured me a bowl of cereal but I couldn’t eat it, I knew she was calling Taylor’s mum and that this was going to be bad. My cereal crackled and popped while I watched Mum snap. Sometimes it’s hard to understand a conversation when you can only hear one side of it, but sometimes you can fill in the blanks as though you’ve heard the whole thing. She told Taylor’s mum that we would be returning her gift. Mum said she didn’t appreciate Taylor’s mum spending more money on her daughter than she could afford to, and that a child wearing jewellery was a decision for the child’s parents.
I’m not a child.
Mum went quiet then. It was as though the conversation had ended, but she was still holding the telephone to her ear, the red cord tightly twisted around her fingers. Then she looked up at me and I knew that she knew I had told a lie and it wouldn’t matter whether it was white or not. Her mouth hung open, as though she was silently saying the letter ‘O’ for a very long time. Then she said, ‘goodbye’ and ‘sorry’ and I knew I was in trouble. She put the phone down and very calmly told me not to lie. Then she asked me if I had stolen the bracelet.
I said no.
Sometimes I lie. Sometimes everybody lies.
Mum told me to take it off again. I shook my head and she started marching towards me, so I ran. Mum’s pretty fast when she hasn’t been drinking, even though she’s let herself go. She’s won the parents race twice on sports days, but she didn’t catch up with me until we got to the top of the stairs. She put her face right in my face and yelled at me to stop lying, bits of her spit landed on me, then she asked again if I had stolen the bracelet. As soon as I started to say the word ‘no’, she slapped me really hard on the cheek. Mum was yelling at me and Dad was at the bottom of the stairs, yelling at Mum, then she grabbed my wrist and yanked the bracelet.
It was only thin gold, it snapped and fell on the floor.
It was an easily broken thing.
I didn’t mean for what happened next to happen, I just wanted her to get away from me and stop ruining everything so I pushed her.
I didn’t mean for her to fall down the stairs, it was an accident.
Everything seemed to slow down and her eyes changed from small and cross to wide open as she fell backwards. She landed at the bottom and didn’t move and everything was quiet. At first I really thought she might be dead. I didn’t know what to do and I don’t think Dad did either because he just stood there for what felt like a really long time. Then she moaned and it was horrible. She didn’t sound like Mum any more but the sound definitely came from her. Dad looked really worried and said he would call an ambulance, but Mum said it would be quicker for him to drive her to the hospital in the car. I wondered if it would start and hoped that it would. Dad helped her up and she kept just moaning about the baby.
I’m not a baby, I’m eleven.
They didn’t say anything to me, not even goodbye. They just walked out the front door and drove away without looking back.
I picked up the broken bracelet and went downstairs.
There was a patch of bright-red blood on the carpet where Mum had landed, she must have cut herself quite badly. I went into the kitchen and picked up the phone. I hit last number redial, I was hoping to wish Taylor a happy birthday, but nobody answered. My birthday cake was on a plate on top of the oven. Nana would have baked a cake herself, but Mum just got one from the supermarket. It was pink with a dancer made from icing and it reminded me of Taylor’s jewellery box, which made me want to cry.
I leaned on one of the buttons on the cooker by accident and jumped back when I saw the sparks, I’m not supposed to touch the oven. Silly, really, because it won’t catch fire without matches, I watched Nana do it hundreds of times. I pushed the ignition button again and again, just because there was nobody there to tell me not to.
By lunchtime I still hadn’t had any breakfast. My cereal was too soggy to eat by then but I was hungry, so I went to the top drawer and took out the biggest knife I could find. Then I cut myself a really big slice of cake and ate it with my fingers at the kitchen table. I blew on it first with my eyes closed and made a wish, even though there was no candle. I have to keep my wish a secret or it won’t come true.
When I had finished my cake, I looked at the small pile of presents and decided Mum would be even more cross with me if I opened them while they were out. I opened one card, because it had Taylor’s writing on the envelope. It didn’t say much:
Happy Birthday!!
Love from,
Taylor
Underneath her name, she’d drawn two green circles with smiley faces. I did cry then, proper big tears that rolled down my cheeks and wouldn’t stop. I don’t think we’ll be allowed to be two peas in a pod any more.
Now
Friday, 30th December 2016
‘You’re here already?’ says Paul.
‘I couldn’t sleep,’ Claire replies.
‘Me neither.’
Me neither, our insomnia seems contagious.
‘I’ll go, so you can have some time together.’
‘No, stay. If you want to. I don’t mind.’
Hours seem to go by without either of them saying a word. The nurses come to change my position, but the outlook stays the same. I want to tell them about the man who is holding me hostage in my sleep. I’m not sure they’d believe me, even if I could. I remember who he is now but I don’t know why he is doing this to me, all I did was say no.
My husband and my sister sit on either side of the bed, my broken body forms the border between them. The stretched out time the three of us endure is coated in the silence of unspoken words. I can feel walls of them, each letter, each syllable piling up on top of one another to form an unstable house of unanswered questions. Lies form the mortar, holding the walls together. If there weren’t so many lies, the walls would have collapsed by now. Instead, we’ve built ourselves a prison.
Paul doesn’t hold my hand today and he doesn’t play me any music. Pages turn, time rolls onwards and the ventilator punctuates each moment with the effort it takes to breathe for me, until the room is so fat with silence, one of us had to burst it. I can’t, she won’t, but he does.
‘It was a girl.’
The four words stab me in the stomach and punch a hole in the muted existence we’ve become accustomed to.
It was a girl.
I was pregnant.
It was a girl.
Past tense.
It was a girl.
I’m not pregnant any more.
Now that the memory is complete, I don’t want it. I want to give it back.
There was a bab
y growing inside of me but I killed it with my mistakes and now I can’t even remember what they were, only what I’ve lost as a result.
‘You could always try again,’ says Claire.
We weren’t really trying any more. We’d given up.
She was an accident.
A beautiful, fucked-up miracle of an accident.
I imagine Claire putting her arms around Paul, pushing her body up against his to comfort him. Even my grief for my unborn child is no longer my own, she’s taking that from me too. The thought sparks a rash of jealousy that spreads itself all over my immobile body, an emotional gravity pushing me down, further into my worst self.
I would have kept her.
We would have loved her.
Now I’ve lost her as well as us.
Northern Nurse comes into the room, smelling of tea, completely unaware that she’s interrupting something I can barely comprehend. I feel all of my hate direct itself at her, but she remains oblivious, pottering about the place as though the world didn’t just end.
Get out and leave me alone!
I feel myself letting go, my grip on reality loosening. Something is being pumped into me, something I don’t want. I can feel it snaking below the surface of my skin, paralysing my mind, squeezing the life out of me. For a moment, I think it might not be a bad thing to die now, to just slip away. Briefly, I don’t want to wake up. Nobody would really miss me if I was gone, they’d probably be better off for it. I think I cry, but the nurse is wiping my face with a flannel so she doesn’t notice. She’s not as gentle as the others. Perhaps she can see all the dirt that hides just below my surface. The wet flannel slaps me in the face and I open my eyes.
I see them standing over me, all dressed in black. I’m not in my hospital bed any more, I’m in an open coffin. They’re all there: Paul, Claire, Jo, even him. He’s shovelling soil onto me and I don’t understand why they don’t make him stop. It’s in my hair, my mouth, some gets into my eyes. I scream at them to stop him but they don’t listen because they cannot hear me.
Sometimes I Lie: The gripping debut psychological thriller you can’t miss in 2017 Page 12
